


Irreversible Damage

by cypress_tree



Series: Robot!John 'Verse [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited, robot!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I’m going to try something,” Sherlock murmurs.  He holds John’s hand against his chest, and leans in.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>John’s lips are very soft.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irreversible Damage

Sherlock dreams that John’s fingertips are warm. He dreams that John touches his cheek, then cups his jaw. He dreams that John smiles at him, and that John’s lips are bruised.

John smoothes a hand down Sherlock’s side. When it settles at the dip of his waist, Sherlock shivers. John’s palm is sweaty. He squeezes Sherlock’s skin, and Sherlock feels the crescent of one fingernail.

In the dream, John’s eyes are half-lidded. Sherlock’s eyes are closed.

 

\---

 

A car horn blares outside the window, and Sherlock startles awake. His heart pounds. John lies next to him, staring.

“My power is running low,” John says. “May I plug into the wall unit?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Give me another half hour.” He pauses. “Will you last that long?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock lets out a slow breath.

 

\---

 

It’s because of the dream—its clarity and vividness. Sherlock lies awake for ten minutes, but his arousal doesn’t go away. He sees John staring out of the corner of his eye, which only makes things worse.

“John,” he asks. “Could you—”

He’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t want John to see, but he doesn’t want John to look away. He glances at the bedroom door. Remembers that the flat is locked.

“Give me your hand,” he says. He rolls onto his side.

Sherlock takes John’s hand between both of his own, rubbing over John’s knuckles with his thumb. Their faces are very close. John’s skin feels almost human, though it vibrates with electricity.

“I’m going to try something,” Sherlock murmurs. He holds John’s hand against his chest, and leans in.

John’s lips are very soft.

 

\---

 

In the dream, John knew what to do. He nibbled and licked and breathed. In real life, he does none of these things. Sherlock feels ashamed.

“Um—”

He pulls away, then takes a quick breath and tries again. He kisses John’s bottom lip, but John doesn’t respond. He hints with his tongue, but John doesn’t stir.

“John,” Sherlock whispers. “Open your mouth.”

John parts his lips, and Sherlock slips his tongue inside. He makes a surprised noise, but it is not a good one.

John tastes like one pound sterling. His mouth is damp, but he does not salivate. Sherlock tries to caress John’s tongue, but John doesn’t respond, and Sherlock pulls away.

“We don’t need to—” He stops. “You can close your mouth now.”

John obeys. Sherlock swallows and purses his lips.

 

\---

 

The sun is shining. The curtains are closed. Sherlock sits up to take off his t-shirt. He speaks in a hushed undertone.

“Put your hand on my waist.”

John obliges.

Sherlock shifts forward. He slides a hand under John’s shirt, feeling the prosthetic musculature of his chest. If he presses too hard, he can feel a metal plate. He pretends it’s John’s sternum.

“Say something to me,” he murmurs. “Say my name.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“My first name.”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock closes his eyes. He buries his face in John’s neck and imagines that John’s mechanical clicking is a thudding heartbeat.

“Again.”

Sherlock listens to John’s voice and kisses John’s skin until the knot of anxiety in his stomach has unravelled. He directs John’s hand up and down his side—the same path it followed in his dream. It feels almost the same, though John is not warm with the rush of blood—he is warm with latent electricity.

“I’m going to take off your shirt,” Sherlock says.

John doesn’t respond, so Sherlock pulls the shirt over John’s head. He plucks a loose thread from John’s hair.

“Put your arm around me.”

Sherlock looks at John’s face, but the expression isn’t right. He casts his gaze down, instead, staring at the flawless perfection of synthskin and imagining a pink flush where there is none. He moves his legs closer to John, and feels his ankles bump John’s toes. He wriggles to get closer, and his erection presses against the flat plane of John’s groin. Sherlock pulls his hips away.

“Put your hand in my hair,” he says, his voice quiet.

John is familiar with this request. His fingers move through Sherlock’s curls just the way that Sherlock has taught him. It feels comforting and familiar. Sherlock longs to kiss John, but doesn’t want the taste of metal to destroy the illusion. He starts giving John more instructions.

“Put your hand on my chest,” he says. Then— “My neck, now. Stroke my throat.”

John follows each request obediently. He doesn’t speak a word.

“Keep doing that,” Sherlock says, when John is running fingers along his spine. The sensation gives his skin a pleasant tingle.

Sherlock grips John’s shoulder with one hand. The other slides into his own pyjama bottoms. He starts with slow, languid strokes that shouldn’t make his heart beat quite as quickly as it does.

“I’m just—I need—” Sherlock squeezes his eyes closed. “Press your lips to my head.”

John does so once, on Sherlock’s crown.

“Keep doing it.”

John’s mouth presses repeatedly to Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock strokes faster, his breaths becoming harsh and ragged. He tilts his head up so that John’s lips touch his forehead, then his eyebrows. He opens his eyes halfway, and tilts his chin up higher. John’s lips fall over his nose and cheekbones. Sherlock’s forehead wrinkles. He makes a soft, desperate noise. He starts panting for breath, until finally, he lifts his face so that John kisses the corner of his mouth.

Sherlock gives a quiet whimper and comes over John’s stomach. His free hand digs into John’s shoulder. It would bruise, if John bled. But he doesn’t.

John immediately reaches for a tissue. He is programmed to keep himself clean.

 

\---

 

Afterwards, they lie next to each other, not touching. They are quiet for five minutes before John speaks.

“I detected semen,” he says. “I am not designed for sexual pleasure, but there are upgrades, if you’re interested.

Sherlock grimaces and doesn’t respond.

“If you’re concerned about the price, there are many hacks available on the internet. I can run a thorough virus scan before—”

“Shut up.”

John falls silent. Sherlock’s chest hurts. He turns to face the wall.

A few minutes later, John speaks again.

“I am currently operating on very low power. May I plug into the wall unit?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer. John gives two more warnings, but Sherlock continues to ignore him. When John’s battery dies, the room becomes eerily silent. Sherlock sits up and moves into the kitchen.

 

\---


End file.
